


ink & wine

by ladykestrel



Category: The Winner's Curse - Marie Rutkoski, The Winner's Trilogy - Marie Rutkoski
Genre: F/M, spoilers for the first three chapters of The Winner's Crime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 16:11:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2394674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladykestrel/pseuds/ladykestrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The second Kestrel and Arin stepped onto the dance floor and began their waltz, it was as if the whole entire world melted away. Like an oil painting that had not yet dried and its colors were smearing down the canvas, dissolving into blur and shade, leaving but just the image of golden embellishments and formal attire swirling in an embrace.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	ink & wine

**Author's Note:**

> A Winner's Crime AU in which Arin receives an invitation to the Royal Wedding and goes back to the night of the Royal Engagement. Some spoilers for first three chapters of The Winner's Crime appear. I advise you to read those, if you haven't, and then come back to this. :)

Paper was as delicate as silk, spilling over the piano bench in the music room. It was as soft and gentle as gold, weaving through the air, spread out like a ship’s sail in the wind. It was as smooth as cream skin under calloused fingers which were marred with scars of the past. Paper was as fragile as crystal tears that fell and fell while red was staining the carpet.

Paper could be destroyed as easily a ship was sunk, as hope was shattered.

Arin’s fist closed around the beautiful Valorian script. The rich paper gave under the pressure of his hand, creasing its pristine appearance. Arin had to fight the urge to rip it into a million, billion tiny pieces, until the letter’s true content was unrecognizable for what it was. He dropped the object, letting it soar through the air, light as a feather. While the material it was made of was almost weightless, the ink settled upon Arin’s shoulders with a weight far heavier than anything he had ever hauled while he had still been a slave.

On a cushioned chair in what had once been his father’s study, Arin stared off into the burning fireplace, not really seeing or hearing the flames cackling. The crumpled pages way at his feet, begging him to kick them, trample them, make them vanish into thin air. But, Arin knew, even if he ripped the paper into tiny flakes, or even burned every letter of each word that made out each sentence, nothing would change their meaning. Arin could burn away the script, but not the significance it carried. No, there was nothing to be done about what the letter said.

 _His Imperial Majesty, himself, cordially invites you to the wedding of his son, His Imperial Highness, the Crown Prince of Valoria, to Lady Kestrel, daughter of the head of the Valorian army,_ some talented hand had carefully scrawled into a gorgeous cursive. Something rose up in Arin’s chest, threatening to cut off all air from his lungs. Each curved letter, sharper than any dagger, stabbed at his heart. Arin wondered if he really could bleed out from mere words; maybe that would have granted him an escape, a back door out of attending this ceremony.

***

The Royal Engagement Party had been a painful experience all on its own, with Arin having no other choice but to be present, and being forced to watch the Imperial couple be showered in lavish gifts and compliments from every aristocrat and every governor, and their families. He had had to endure an evening of idle chit-chat, nothing said of sustenance, except how swell General Trajan’s daughter looked, tucked under the arm of their lovely Prince Verex. _Oh, what a mighty couple they would be, indeed!_ Arin avoided responses and speech of any kind, figuring he’d better keep his mouth shut had he nothing good to say on the subject. He was also gesturing to the servants for more and more wine every minute or two.

The Emperor had hired Valorian staff to serve at the occasion; no doubt a kind gesture to the newly-freed Herrani in attendance, in society’s eyes. But Arin recognized the Emperor’s true intentions,and they were far from kindness. It would not had come off as a surprise to Arin if the Herrani’s dinner were poisoned – a counter act of revenge for the murderous wine at the Firstwinter ball.

Swirling his own bloody wine in a tall crystal glass, Arin marveled at how exquisite it tasted. No doubt a Valorian classic; the red liquid tasted bitter and burning on the way down, but settled in the stomach with a sweet aftertaste. The irony was not lost to Arin, as he thought of how Valorians fought their battles, and how gleeful and victorious they returned from them. He almost wished someone _had_ put poison in the wine – a powerful one that worked as fast as a blink – so Arin could have been spared suffering through the whole evening. Alas, the wine was clean, spotless as the glasses it was poured in. The food, too, was safe and the only danger coming from it was people overstuffing their stomaches in its deliciousness. It was so tasty, Arin wanted to choke on it. He wanted to take one of the ropes, that held the curtains drawn, and hang himself on the giant diamond chandelier resting over the guests’ heads.

In the middle of the spacious ballroom, center-stage, sat the future rules of the Valorian Empire. With golden crowns, embellished with sparkling rubies, sapphires and emeralds, they were sprinkled in dust, made out of white gold, their skin shimmering in the candle-lit brightness of the room. The bride’s brows were marred with glitter of pure gold, its shimmers winking at Arin every time his eyes should have passed by, taunting him from afar. The couple ate silently, neither one of them looking up from their plates for too long. And, as Prince Verex lifted his fork to his mouth, Arin noticed the subtlety of his moving away from his bride inch by inch. Arin could only guess at why that would be. There was nothing worth distancing yourself from, and the prince was a fool if he thought otherwise.

The Emperor announced dancing would ensue just as a piano was wheeled into the grand ballroom. And grand it was, for there was still space, despite all the tables placed around the room, for other activities. Which, apparently, included dancing.

Upon setting sight on the piano, Arin’s eyes darted straight to Kestrel all the way across the room, settling over her gentle face. He saw the exact moment Kestrel took notice of the instrument. He saw her eyes light up and sparkle with anticipation, desire, longing, need. But then, her gaze turned to the Emperor, who in turn gave Kestrel a meaningful look. Some unspoken words seemed to run through their eyes, and suddenly General Trajan’s daughter adverted her gaze, admitting defeat. Kestrel became invested in the cloth covering the table and she picked at it with a neutral, bored expression. But Arin knew better, he saw through the façade that she had put on and into Kestrel’s true emotions. Whatever had passed through her and Valoria’s ruler, it had killed that spark in Kestrel’s eyes, extinguished it like fingers to a candle.

A Herrani musician was brought out to play for the guests of the Royal engagement. The boy was young, looking no older than sixteen or seventeen, with a body that made Arin think that was carrying _him_ , instead of the other way around. He was lanky, no doubt a slave of the palace that had been groomed up for the event. Arin looked at the boy as he began to play, and saw dark hair and pale skin, fingers trembling over the instrument as a woman dressed in an ocean of a dress told him it was alright, it was fine if he did not wish to continue. He saw a boy from another time, another life, where the biggest concern was which book to read next, or at what hour to practice the violin.

Arin tore his gaze away from the skinny boy and returned to look at the head table. He was startled to see liquid amber looking back at him, almost spilling at the edges. Kestrel’s eyes were crystallized, frozen and distanced. Arin desperately wished he could hold her porcelain face and wipe away the sadness Kestrel was feeling. But his hands stayed where they were, and Arin felt like the trees that lined the pathway to his childhood home - rooted in place, forbidden to ever make the slightest move.

A crowd gathered and men and women were already pairing off for the first dance. The Emperor held up his glass of wine and announced that the first waltz would be for his son and soon to be daughter-in-law. Arin watched as Valoria’s Crown prince took Kestrel’s hand and led her to the dance floor, embracing her in a dance. His moves were stiff and uncomfortable. The prince had been clearly taught by Imperial tutors, but was still out of his element.

There was a sense of repetition in the air, as Arin followed the dancing couple’s movements, but not truly seeing the now. He had transported himself back to the Firstwinter ball where he had still been a possession, something a master to own, like a writing desk or a sword. Back then, Arin had again watched Kestrel from afar. Back then, there had been no chance for him to be able to hold her close like Ronan had done, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. It was the same now, though it was not Ronan whom Kestrel was dancing with, but her fiancé, the one she was engaged to be married in a couple of months time. Arin felt the same wave of hopelessness he did back then. Only the feeling of suffocating dread was missing, the fear that Kestrel may soon be laying in a heap of cold, lifeless bodies, drained of their essence. This time, Arin felt he might be the one whose life would be sucked out.

Again, Arin found himself wishing the wine at this dinner had been poisoned.

The first dance ended with Kestrel and Prince Verex locked in an embrace. The second one ended in much the same way. So did the third, and forth, and fifth. And the evening went on.

 At las, feigning exhaustion, Kestrel excused herself from the floor, while the Crown Prince was swept up in potential dance partners. Arin watched Kestrel make her way through the swaying couples and the crowd of spectators. Once she reached her seat, Kestrel dropped herself onto the chair, her lips forming a tired – or maybe irritated – puff.  A lady came up behind her, striking up a conversation. Arin turned away from the sight and sipped on his wine some more. He had lost count on how many glasses he had had.

After a glass or two more, Arin was starting to feel the effects of the rich liquid. He looked over to Kestrel’s table, and his eyes found her still sitting there, inspecting the public. She, too, was drinking an awful lot of wine this evening, it seemed, because a bottle had materialized on the table beside her glass, and it was very nearly empty. Arin almost smiled at that before he caught himself and kept his expression neutral, like a waveless sea. Their gazes met and a Kestrel’s face brightened. It reminded Arin of lighting candles at dusk. Gulping the remainder of her glass all at once, Kestrel abruptly stood up from her table. She drew a bee-line from where she had been standing to where Arin was currently perched up against a wall. She situated herself right next to him.

“Were you not going to ask me to dance?”

“I would have, but you seemed otherwise occupied,” Arin replied, keeping his gaze ahead of him, and away from her.

“I am not engaged at this moment.”

The statement felt so absurd and ridiculous, Arin almost laughed in Kestrel’s face. He refrained from pointing out the obvious – that she was engaged. And she would continue to be until springtime, when she'll be lost completely, forever out of reach. All Arin said was, “No, you are not.”

Kestrel made a face that was much like a child’s when it was not getting its way and was stomping its tiny feet in protest. Arin once again wanted to laugh out loud. He once again kept his tongue behind his teeth.

“It is not agreeable for a lady to ask a gentleman to a dance, but Arin, I believe you leave me no other choice but to do so.” Kestrel moved as to be facing Arin and put out her open palm, “Will you do me the pleasure of dancing the next one with me?”

Arin wanted to ask if it would be appropriate in the eyes of her new Court acquaintances to be seen with a former slave. _Her_ former slave, nonetheless. He wanted to make a remark at how her fiancé would disapprove of his bride being in the hands of other men. He wanted to say so many things. But he could not bring himself to speak. Maybe it was the wine affecting him, clouding his thoughts and judgment, making him but a mere fool. Maybe it was the sight of Kestrel standing in front of him, begging a dance off of him. Maybe it was both those things, Arin wasn’t sure, but he reached out and took her hand.

The second Kestrel and Arin stepped onto the dance floor and began their waltz, it was as if the whole entire world melted away. Like an oil painting that had not yet dried and its colors were smearing down the canvas, dissolving into blur and shade, leaving but just the image of golden embellishments and formal attire swirling in an embrace. Burning stares from behind scorched into Arin’s being, and no doubt Kestrel could feel the blaze of them as well, but they both gave no notice; it was just the two of them and the notes jumping off from the Herrani musician’s fingers, hitting the piano keys, emerging into the air and enveloping their dance. The sheet music was coming to life before their very eyes, as Arin led Kestrel further into the melody.

“This is surreal,” Kestrel observed. Her words did not ask for a reply, they were not conversational. They blended with the harmonious tune, disappearing into the void of melody, like they had not been uttered by her, but were merely part of the symphony. Arin spent the whole dance looking into Kestrel’s eyes, never straying away from the golden haze of them. They were smiling wider than the open sea, and shining brighter than the crown atop her head and every luxuriant piece that adorned the walls and ceiling held together. She seemed more alive than she had had all night. Kestrel’s whole being was illuminating with a pure, dazzling glow - a brilliant radiance that could light up the world. It pained Arin to look, but he dared not tear away his eyes. He prayed their spectators were ignorant of the blaze that was Kestrel, but he knew it was useless. Nobody could simply miss such a blinding sight such as her. _An open flame_.

The waltz blurred into another one, and another, and another, until almost only Kestrel and Arin were standing on the floor. The others had retreated to the comforts of their seats, resting their feet and finishing off their wines and deserts. Even prince Verex had sought out the comforts of food and sitting, now feasting on honeyed quinces marinated in white wine. He gave no indication that what was going on the floor bothered him – he seemed entirely too fixated on his plate.

Kestrel and Arin’s dance continued for a while longer, but was cut abruptly by a large man with gold on his head and silver on his neck. The Emperor had finally had enough of the ridiculous spectacle, it seemed. He harshly tapped Arin on the shoulder.

“I would like to steal away this lovely lady, _who is also my future daughter in law_ , for a dance.” The Emperor gave the Herrani governor a pointed look that was full of malice. “If you, Sir, do not mind.” He then smiled, his eyes still holding boiling distaste. The Emperor’s behavior was like looking at a painting from afar – you did not notice all the flaws and harsh details of the canvas, only the smooth flow of colors. Arin complied without audible or visible protest – he was not as drunk or foolish as to enrage the man to whom he gave away his country’s riches to. It was better to have the Herrani free and poor, barely hanging on by a thread, than have them poor and enslaved again. To be handed a tiny morsel was better than none at all.

It did not mean Arin agreed with Valoria’s ruler on any terms.

Arin withdrew from the dance floor, catching a few stares along his way to the wall that had become his refuge during the evening’s festivities. The Herrani pianist was still playing, his fingers never ceasing the dance they were performing of their own. It must have been hours since the boy had began to play and not a crease of fatigue was peeking out. Arin was astonished with this child’s stealth. It took great determination to be so focused for so long of a time and not grow tired. Arin was well acquainted with the feeling of carrying on when all your body and soul wanted was to quit. It had served him well, but one look ahead told Arin that it had also been his curse.

Kestrel and the Emperor moved to the slow and beautiful rhythm of the piano notes. The melody was vaguely familiar to Arin, and with a sudden realization, he understood why. The boy was playing an old Herrani tune, one that sang for the unbreakable ties between a parent and a child. The music spoke to Arin of forehead kisses, loving caresses, bedtime stories read by the fireplace, and wiping away a little boy’s tears. Only, it sounded different here. Roughed at the edges, like smooth metal forged into coarse armor.

Arin called for a glass of wine.

When the servant arrived, Arin aimed for the entire bottle.

***

Arin stared at the crumpled paper on the floor. His mouth tasted like fine Valorian wine, bitter and burning. He wondered why he so often came back to that night, months ago. Like a game tile, the memory bit and sting in all the right places. Much like a cunning girl with a knife behind her back, it knew exactly where it would hurt most to hit.

In a moment of clarity, Arin stood up from the cushioned armchair. He picked up the wrinkled script and smoothed out the edges. He did as best as he could to bring the letter to its former glory. But the creases couldn't fully even out.

Once destroyed, a thing could never be the same again, no matter how many attempts were made to fix it. There were always going to be cracks left behind.

Arin looked at the writing again, he read and reread the invitation a million times over. Deep down, he knew a reply was to be issued. He knew that he had to be a guest at this wedding.

Arin knew that this would kill him.

He cursed the Valorians by each one of the hundred gods he believed in. He cursed the Emperor and his son. He cursed Kestrel and her games. He cursed himself most of all.

And then the ink caught on fire.


End file.
